


Darkness Rising

by thatoneunevenchick



Series: The Dark vs The Light [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Other, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Rape, beatings, concered john watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:06:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1222249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatoneunevenchick/pseuds/thatoneunevenchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty wanted revenge, and he wanted it on Mycroft Holmes, however he couldn't simply kidnap the man who ran the British government, so his brother would have to do.</p><p>*Warning* descriptive acts of physical and physiological torture</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the lovely anothermindpalace via tumblr. She gave me permission to write a story based off this au http://anothermindpalace.tumblr.com/post/61781805280/sherlock-au-after-being-abducted-and-tortured.  
> As you can see I've changed it slightly but it was lovely that she allowed me to write this.

The room was dark and cold and smelt distinctively of mold, mildew and the all too familiar smell of rotting basement. Sherlock sat still on the bed, his ribs and shoulders still aching from being thrown onto the ground and into the boot of a small car where he had to squeeze his knees tight to his chest to make room for the rest of his body. He looked around, trying to deduce something, anything about where he was. But the room was too dimly lit, the only source of light being the thin moon beam that leaked in through the small barred window and he was far too worn out to make out much of anything even if there were proper lighting. A bruisingly large man shoved his way into the room and with a grunt wandered over to where Sherlock was sitting, roughly grabbing his wrist and locking it into a pair of handcuffs, pulling it behind one of the bars of the metal headboard before clamping his other wrist in the other end of the handcuffs. Sherlock twisted himself to get more comfortable, his arms hanging above his head. He watched as the man lumbered back out of the room.  
Sherlock looked down at himself, accessing if anything else was wrong with him. His coat was missing and he guessed that someone had taken it. He had a large rip in the knee of his right pant leg and a small cut that had stopped bleeding quite some time ago. His shirt was in near perfect condition aside from the large amount of dirt smeared across it. The door opened and a small wiry man came in with a chair, setting it down several feet away from where Sherlock was seated on the bed. The man regarded Sherlock with a sly look before leaving out the door. Sherlock sat for what seemed like hours but he knew could only have been a couple minutes before a dark figure walked into the room, wearing what looked a lot like Sherlock's coat.  
“This is a lovely coat you have Sherlock” came the sticky sweet drawl of an all too familiar voice. “It’s a shame that you won’t be needing it for some time” he said, sitting down in the chair in front of Sherlock, crossing his legs. “Though it is a bit drafty in here”  
“What do you want Moriarty?” Sherlock asked, gritting his teeth.  
“Oh not much” he said, examining his fingernails. “Just revenge”  
“On who?”  
“Your brother Sherlock dear, your brother” Sherlock let out a shaky laugh that slowly turned into a chuckle.  
“And how are you going to do this, there isn’t much my brother cares about” Moriarty laughed, leaning forward in the chair so he was in the small light beam that was coming in through the window.  
“Quite right Sherlock but there is one thing he cares about more than he’d like to mention”  
“And what’s that?”  
“You”  
\---  
John paced back and forth in the den of 221b, running his hands nervously through his hair several times before sitting down in his arm chair only to get back up and repeat the process. It wasn’t normal for Sherlock to have been gone this long, granted he’d been gone longer but he said he was heading over to Saint Bart’s, he should have been back by now, at the very least he should have texted by now.  
John checked his phone for the seventh time since the hour, still no messages from Sherlock. John rubbed his hands over his face, grabbing his coat and hailing a cab. When he reached Scotland Yard he threw some money at the cabbie and dashed in through the doors, bursting into Lestrade’s office without so much as a hello to anyone in the offices.  
“Sherlock's gone” John said breathlessly.  
“And this is different from any other time because?”  
“He said he was going to Saint Bart’s” Lestrade raised an eyebrow, requesting a further explanation. John rolled his eyes, suddenly remembering that not everyone knew Sherlock the way he did. “He left this morning, and it’s almost five, he’s never gone this long without texting”  
“Well maybe something’s come up?” John shook his head.  
“He would have texted me, or had Molly text me and I haven’t heard anything all day”  
“Maybe we should head over there” Lestrade said, standing up and shrugging on his coat. John nodded, following him out the door and into a cab.  
\---  
Sherlock twisted in his handcuffs, the cold metal cutting into his wrists. His arms had since gone numb from being in the same position for several hours. The heavy metal door opened and Sherlock wasn’t surprised to see Moriarty walk in with the larger man that had handcuffed him. The large man walked over to the bed, unlocking the cuffs from around Sherlock's wrist. The man grabbed Sherlock's legs, turning him so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the chair.  
A table was placed next to the chair and a small black box was placed on top of it. The large man walked over to the door, standing in front of it and crossing his arms over his chest.  
“Miss me?” Moriarty asked, walking over to the table, his arms behind his back. “I brought some presents for you” and Sherlock was sure he meant whatever the black box contained. He sat down in the chair, placing his hands in-between his knees. “Now you should know that these are small presents and when you receive them I expect some sort of reaction” he turned to the box, unlatching the top and skimming over the items before picking one up. “This one is quite fun” Moriarty said, turning it around in his hands, the instrument look like a very cruel set of pliers.  
“Open wide for daddy Sherlock dear” Sherlock clamped his mouth together, making a show of pulling his lips in. Moriarty sighed and motioned for the burly man by the door to come over. The man lumbered over from the door and stood next to Sherlock, placing his huge, calloused hands on either side of Sherlock’s face.  
“Break his jaw sir?” The man asked, his voice low and rumbly.  
“No, no I need him to be able to talk” the man nodded, prying Sherlock’s jaw open. “These are lovely teeth you have here Sherlock, which one do I want?”, Sherlock watched, eyes wide with fear as Moriarty placed the pliers on one of his back molars, twisting and quickly pulling. Sherlock cried out, the sound strangled as Sherlock’s mouth was still being held open. Blood poured from the tooth’s former home, dripping down and off Sherlock’s bottom lip.  
“Now Sherlock dear this isn’t all I want from you” Moriarty said, placing the piers on the table and nodding at the man. The brooding man let go of Sherlock’s mouth, moving instead to hold his right hand out to Moriarty. Moriarty wiped his hands on a towel that was sitting on the table, before once again picking up the piers, placing them on the tip of Sherlock’s middle finger nail. He pulled back quickly, yanking Sherlock’s nail out all the while keeping eye contact. Sherlock shouted, and cursed, pain shooting up through his arm.  
“Thank you” Moriarty said, picking up Sherlock’s tooth and fingernail along with the black box and heading out the door, the man following behind, shutting the thick metal door behind himself.  
\---  
“He never showed up” Molly said, filling out a sheet clipped onto her clip board.  
“Are you sure you just didn’t see him come in, maybe you missed him” John said, worry etched into his voice.  
“No he never showed up”  
“How could he have never showed up” John asked, Lestrade as they walked out of Bart’s. Lestrade shrugged.  
“I don’t know John, maybe he got distracted or something” John stopped walking, looking up at Lestrade.  
“Do you not even know him?”  
Lestrade looked nervous but simply shrugged. “I can’t fill out a missing persons report until he’s been gone for forty eight hours”  
John nodded, understanding the conditions.  
“If he’s not back by tomorrow night let me know” Lestrade said, clapping John on the shoulder and heading down the street in the opposite direction of John.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was left un-cuffed to the bed and he was silently thankful for it, the skin on his wrists already rubbed raw almost to the point of bleeding. Sherlock rubbed at his jaw, sharp pain still shooting through the back of his mouth. His mind ran through reasons why Moriarty would want to keep him captive, skipping over the obvious fact that he was Moriarty and he had a fondness for that sort of thing. Sherlock absentmindedly rubbed at his wrists, hissing in pain at the burning sensation it caused.   
Sherlock wished he had something it occupy his mind, if only for a little while. The door opened and Sherlock turned sharply in the direction of his only way out. A table was again brought in but nothing was set on it. Sherlock frowned at this but decided it was better that nothing was brought in at this time. The door was again shut and Sherlock was left alone. He paced the length of the room, wondering what Moriarty had planned for him next. After what seemed like hours but in truth was only a few minutes Moriarty slaughtered in, hands behind his back. He placed a syringe on the small black table, filled with a familiar substance. Sherlock's eyes widened with fear as he backed up onto the bed, back pressed against the wall.   
"Judging by your reaction I'm going to guess you know what this substance is" Moriarty said, a sly smiled plastered on his face.   
"I don't want that" Sherlock said, pointing to the syringe.   
"I know Sherlock dear that's why it's being given to you"  
"Please no" Sherlock said, holding his hands up to protect himself. Moriarty nodded and the man by the door, whom Sherlock hasn't noticed before, walked over to Sherlock, rolling his sleeve up well past his elbow. Sherlock struggled against the man but to no avail. A rubber band was tied around his arm above the elbow and Moriarty reached to grab the syringe. Moriarty quickly found the vane in Sherlock's arm, pushing the needle in past the skin and pushing the stopper on the top down. Moriarty left Sherlock in a state of confusion and Sherlock gathered that he said he'd be back later to check on him, couldn't have him choking in his own vomit or something of the like.   
\---  
Sherlock wasn't sure how long it had been before Moriarty came back but he knew it was long enough for the dose he had given him to wear off and long enough for Sherlock to be crawling the walls with want of more.   
"It's lovely to see you this way Sherlock" Sherlock lay on the bed, curled into a tight ball, pulling at his hair.   
"Going through withdrawals dear?" Sherlock groaned and tucked into himself tighter.   
"Have a lovely night" Moriarty said, turning on his heel and leaving through the heavy metal door.   
\---  
Lestrade still refused to fill out a missing persons report.   
"He's been gone for three days!" John shouted across the desk at Lestrade.   
"This is Sherlock we're talking about he does this all the time."  
"No, something's wrong, he would have texted me by now"   
"I'll file one now if it'll make you feel better"  
"Yes thank you" John said, watching as Lestrade grabbed some papers and a pen, quickly filling them out.   
"I'll have people looking for him"  
\---  
Sherlock was extremely thirsty, his mouth dry and lips slightly chapped. The need for the drugs tearing his insides apart. He bit at his nails to try and distract himself but his nails didn’t grow quite fast enough and already he'd made three fingers bleed. He had buttoned and unbuttoned his dress shirt seven times already and had chewed his lip to past the bleeding point. He was becoming desperate now as another hour passed, he wished more than anything that Moriarty would come in and give him another dose, even just a small one, anything to stop the craving. Sherlock ran his fingers roughly through his hair, tugging at it, trying to think of something, anything to distract himself. He tried to think of John, tried to wonder if he was worried about him but he couldn't think about John for too long before the cravings kicked in and took over his mind. One of the large men lumbered into the room and grabbed Sherlock by the back of the neck, picking him up from where he lay on the ground, and set him on the bed. Sherlock leaned back against the wall, his eyes sliding closed. Sherlock wasn't sure how long it was before the door opened again, wasn't sure how long it took Moriarty to slaughter over to him, wasn't sure how quickly he leaned down to whisper, only registered the fact that his breath was hot and sticky on his neck and it was all around unpleasant and made his skin crawl with disgust. He registered that Moriarty said something along the lines of three days, three days since the last dose. He felt the sharp tip of the needle enter his skin and the drug enter his system. Sherlock could feel Moriarty smile against his cheek. Registered that Moriarty had placed a chaste kiss on the shell of his ear before leaving out the door.   
\---  
Sherlock muddled through the high and through his withdrawal to discover that since the last dose it had been six days. He could only guess that Moriarty's new form of torture was forcibly injecting drugs into his system and leaving him with longer withdrawals. Sherlock perked up when he heard the metal door groan open. He was confused when only Moriarty walked in, holding nothing but Sherlock's cell phone. He crouched down to be level with Sherlock, tilting his head slightly as Sherlock was laying on the bed.   
"One phone call Sherlock dear" Moriarty said, handing him the phone. Sherlock fumbled with the phone, shakily typing in the numbers he had memorized. Sherlock sighed with relief when he heard John pick up on the other end.   
"Hi John"  
"Sherlock where the hell are you? You've been gone for a week and a half"  
"I think I'm in a basement" Sherlock said lazily. He heard John pause on the other end of the phone.   
"Sherlock are you high?" Sherlock shook his head for a moment before remembering that John couldn't see him.   
"No, not on drugs not right now"  
"Not right now, Sherlock" Sherlock heard John's voice trail off as Moriarty grabbed the phone out of his hand, placing it against his ear.   
\---  
John was shocked when the phone rang and Sherlock's number popped up. His first reaction was to be angry but Sherlock sounded so lost that John couldn't be mad for long.   
"Sherlock are you high?" John asked, his heart clenching at the very thought.   
"No not on drugs not right now"  
"Not right now? Jesus Sherlock" John jumped when Moriarty's sticky sweet voice met him on the other end of the line.   
"Hello Johnny Boy"  
"Hello" John said questioningly.   
"I have your precious Sherlock, he's been quite good, very compliment as of late."  
"Don't you hurt him" John said through gritted teeth.   
"Oh no Johnny not yet, not yet but soon enough, don't you worry your pretty little head"  
\---  
Moriarty hung up, tucking the phone into his suit pocket. Moriarty turned back to Sherlock, leaning down to look at Sherlock, his hands placed on his knees.   
"What should we do tomorrow hmm? The real fun starts tomorrow" he said, patting Sherlock's cheek before heading out the door.   
\---  
Sherlock was once again handcuffed to the flimsy metal headboard and two of Moriarty’s large side kicks came in, standing on either side of the heavy metal door. Sherlock pulled himself up into a sitting position, groaning quietly as the cuffs dug into his wrists. The men watched him from the door, the one checking his wrist every now and again. After what seemed like an hour Moriarty slaughter in. He nodded his head and they moved from the doorway, uncuffing Sherlock from the bed and re-cuffing him to a section of the wall. Moriarty wandered over and stretched his fingers. A silver set of brass knuckles sat snugly against Moriarty's knuckles on his right hand and sliver of fear rang through Sherlock. Moriarty stretched his fingers out, examining the back of his hand. Moriarty wrenched his arm back and Sherlock braced himself for the impact. The cool metal slammed hard against his jaw and he could already taste the metallic sting of blood. Moriarty wrenched back again and placed another blow to Sherlock's left cheek. He placed several more blows on his face before moving down to hit his sides and stomach. Moriarty stood back, examining his work before slipping the brass knuckles off his hand and handing them to his henchman. Moriarty gripped Sherlock's chin, tilting it up and forcing him to look him in the eye.   
"You're an easily broken pet aren't you? You'll learn to become quite submissive and compliant" Moriarty said sweetly, releasing Sherlock jaw. With a wave of his hand and a nod Sherlock was released from the wall and left on the cold concrete.   
\---  
The only thing John could think to do while he was waiting for Sherlock to be found, was eat. He was sure he'd gained ten pounds since Sherlock was taken, given that all he'd been eating was fish and chips and the occasional take away along with at least twenty cups of tea a day. Mrs. Hudson worried about and and tried several times to get him to eat something other than fast food but John refused. Several times John thought about going for a run but couldn't muster up enough energy to actually go through with it. Occasionally Lestrade would stop by with snippets of information about where Sherlock might be but it all was seemingly useless. Wherever Sherlock was John hopped he was okay.


	3. Chapter 3

John could wish for Sherlock's safety as much as he wanted to but it didn't help the fact that Moriarty was currently taking great pleasure in the fact that he was beating the living piss out of Sherlock. Sherlock was struggling to keep himself up on all fours as Moriarty placed calculated blow after calculated blow to Sherlock’s sides and face. In the back corners of his mind Sherlock registered how disgusting it was that there was a thick stream of blood flowing from his mouth, mingling with his spit and dripping of his bottom lip into a puddle on the cold concrete floor. Moriarty kicked up into Sherlock’s stomach and he let out a puff of air and fell over onto the floor. Moriarty squatted down, watching as Sherlock writhed on the floor, clutching his stomach.   
“Oh Sherlock” Moriarty said crouching down on the floor next to Sherlock. He gently brushed hair off of Sherlock's bloodied forehead and Sherlock visibly curled away from his touch. "I really don't want to do this to you love"   
"Then stop" Sherlock gurgled, spitting out a thick stream of blood. Moriarty shook his head.   
"I have to do this Sherlock dear" Moriarty said, placing a hand on Sherlock's bloodied face, rubbing his thumb gently over Sherlock's bruised cheekbone. Sherlock weakly tried to push Moriarty's hand off his face but greatly failed.   
“Shall I place you on the bed dear, I don’t think the floor is going to be very comfortable.” Sherlock tried his hardest to protest Moriarty’s help but he didn’t really want to lay on the floor and he wasn’t sure of his own strength. Moriarty carefully picked him up off the floor and laid him on the bed.   
He brushed hair off Sherlock’s forehead, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead before leaving the room, closing the door behind himself.   
\---  
Sherlock was left alone for roughly a week, only being bothered when he was given food. The cuts on his sides had healed but he still had quite a few large angry looking bruises along his sides. The swelling in his face had gone down considerably but it was still sore and bruised.   
He lay on the bed, wondering vaguely if John was looking for him. Moriarty walked in through the heavy metal door, dragging a chair behind himself. He faced the chair backwards in front of the flimsy bed Sherlock was spread out on, straddling it and resting his arms on the back of the chair.   
“How ya feeling Sherlock?” Moriarty asked in that annoying sing-song voice he possesed.  
“Fuck you”   
“Ooo, getting a tad sassy are we?” Sherlock groaned and pressed his face into his pillow. “Still sore?” Sherlock though he didn’t want to, nodded. “Well tomorrow we’ll have some real fun”  
\---  
Heavy metal handcuffs were clamped around Sherlock’s wrists and his arms were pulled above his head, hooked to something in the ceiling.Sherlock’s shirt had been removed and he was sure that a thorough beating was in order. Moriarty took great pleasure in administering the beatings himself and this time was no different. His ever crisp, clean suit was what he wore and he walked in with a whip. He unrolled it and Sherlock heard the leather hit the floor.   
He heard the leather whistle through the stale air and flinched when it made contact with his bare skin. He heard it whiz through the air again and snap across the small of his back. He let out a small whimper and he could feel the air nipping at his wounds with the sickening promise of infection.   
Sherlock counted ten more lashes across his back and two across both shoulders before he heard Moriarty rolled the whip up and unhooked Sherlock from the ceiling and handcuffs. Moriarty pressed a stinging kiss against one of the more nasty cuts and Sherlock hissed in pain.   
“These might scar Sherlock” he said, brushing his fingers lightly over the split skin and Sherlock bit his lip to suppress a whimper.   
\---  
There wasn’t a comfortable position Sherlock could rest in. Should he stretch too far the open wounds would split and widen and cause severe discomfort. Sherlock was currently laying on his stomach, arms slack by his sides. Though most of his attention was spent on trying to keep his wounds from splitting he realized that he was terribly hungry. Suddenly he longed to John's annoying pestering about eating something and he promised himself to never complain about it again.   
He wondered vaguely if Moriarty would ever let him go, no probably not, and for a moment he wondered if he'd ever be found or if he would simply waste away. Sherlock prayed to a god he didn't believe in that he would be found, that someone, anyone, god even Anderson, would find him. Sherlock's back itched but he dared not move from his current position, knowing full well that if he did, it would cause further and future discomfort.   
\---  
One of the cuts on Sherlock’s back had gotten infected and Moriarty caved and allowed someone to come in and take care of it, putting a clean dressing on it three times a day. However this act of “kindness” came with another more subtle punishment. Sherlock was denied food.   
He was already fairly skinny even when he was allowed to eat whenever he pleased but now he felt as if his ribs were going to poke through his skin at any moment but then again he could have just been being dramatic. His stomach complained angrily at him and he sighed in annoyance.   
"Shut up" he mumbled hoarsely to his stomach. "I have nothing to give you"  
"Are you talking to yourself?" Sherlock quickly looked up, the action making his head spin, his gaze catching Moriarty's.   
"You're starving me and you've denied me human communication of course I'm talking to myself"   
"Well then you should know that I have a present for you" Sherlock's brow rose high on his head, nearly disappearing into his hairline.   
"And by present do you mean an actual gift or another beating?"  
"If your going to be rude about it I won't give it to you" Sherlock clamped his mouth shut. Moriarty reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out Sherlock's mobile, flipping it around in his hand.   
"One person Sherlock dear, one". Moriarty slowly exited the room and Sherlock wondered briefly why Moriarty trusted him not to call more than one person. Sherlock licked his dry, cracked lips and slowly dialed John's number.   
"Hello?"  
"John" Sherlock breathed.   
\---  
"Sherlock, what, where?" John scrambled, sitting up so fast he fell off the couch.   
"John" Sherlock said again. John picked himself off the floor, shoving his fist into his mouth, biting down hard, but it didn't stop the tears from leaking out of the corners of his eyes.  
"Are you okay?" John choked out.   
"No, no I'm not"  
“How did you call me?”  
“He let me” John let out a small sigh of relief.  
“I’m so sorry Sherlock, I’m so sorry”  
“Me too John, me too”  
\---   
Sherlock nearly began crying when Moriarty came back in and snached the phone out of his hand. Moriarty talked on the phone with John for a few more minutes before hanging up and tucking it into the inside pocket of his sleek black suit jacket.   
"Little Johnny boy misses you Sherlock dear" Sherlock glared and shuffled himself on the bed. "How's your back?" Sherlock grumbled and rolled onto his stomach. Moriarty gently removed the bandage on Sherlock's back and examined the wound. He gently ran his hands along his back and Sherlock winched.   
The wounds were nearly healed, they were scabbed over and they still hurt like a bitch but they were healing. Moriarty lightly traced each wound with his delicate fingers, scanning over them as if memorizing the exact places he had injured Sherlock, as if he was trying to memorize the exact places he had inflicted pain. He kissed one of the cuts and curtly exited the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow guys it's been awhile since I posted the last chapter and so sorry for the long wait but this story is fairly difficult to write and had the end of the school year but school's out now so updates might be coming a lot sooner. I'll try to update every-other week. Reviews would be great and will make me write faster.

Sherlock was never one for crying but this new form of torture was a new all time low for Moriarty. Sherlock had been blindfolded and taken to a different part of wherever the hell they were. A room with a furnace. He had his arms chained above his head and been stripped out of nearly all his clothes.   
Moriarty was currently taking a iron, heating it up in the open fire and sticking it against different places on Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock cried out as Moriarty placed the hot iron against his hip, holding it there longer than he had the other times. Sherlock’s skin was on fire and welted in several spots from the fire. On top of burning him Moriarty thought it was quite delightful to gash him open and burn the wound closed.   
Moriarty however was slightly considerate as he stayed away from burning his back. Moriarty stopped for a moment, handing the iron to one of his henchman and leaning in close to Sherlock’s face.   
“I want you to beg for it” Moriarty whispered close to Sherlock’s ear. “I want you to beg for mercy and when I think you’ve done a sufficient job I will stop” Moriarty reached back and grabbed the iron from his henchman and stuck it in the fire, placing it across Sherlock’s stomach. Sherlock screamed.   
“Please” Sherlock said breathlessly, a slight whimper in his tone. “Please”   
“Please what Sherlock?” Moriarty asked, grabbing Sherlock’s chin and tipping his face up, placing the hot iron against his left side. Sherlock let out a loud shout and Moriarty smiled at his discomfort.   
“Please, please no more, please I can’t take anymore, please” the last please was whispered quietly and Moriarty smiled, placing a light kiss to Sherlock’s cheek.   
“There we go”  
\---  
John stumbled up the stairs, listing to one side with the weight of the grouchies he bought but probably wouldn’t eat most of. He walked into the kitchen and placed the bags from Tesco on the counter frowning at where the kettle sat as he thought he let it on the counter, not the stove top.   
John turn and gasped upon seeing Moriarty smiling at him from where he sat with his legs crossed in Sherlock’s chair, holding a mug of what John supposed was tea. John pulled his gun out of the back of his pants and aimed it at Moriarty, quickly walking to the back of his chair.   
“What the hell are you doing here?”   
“Came for a chat” Moriarty said cheerily. “You can put away the gun Jonny Boy if I wanted you dead you never wouldn’t have left the flat this morning.” John slowly lowered his gun but kept it in his hand. Moriarty motioned to John’s chair and John sat wearily.  
“Chat about what?” John asked curiously.  
“Sherlock of course” John’s expression turned stormy and he motioned for Moriarty to continue. “He’s doing quite well” Moriarty said with a sarcastic smile plastered across his face. “We had some fun with a hot iron yesterday” John restrained himself from jumping out of his chair and strangling Moriarty where he sat, clenching and unclenching his fist, tensing his jaw.  
“He keeps asking for you, you know. Wants to come back home and spend some time with you.”   
“Why, why are you doing this?” Moriarty shrugged.   
“It started out being because of revenge but lately it’s been sort of a fun game” John shook his head. “He’s become very good at begging”   
“Get out of my flat” John said angrily and low in a voice that tended to make a normal person shrivel away. Moriarty smiled and set his mug down, standing up slowly, fixing his suit.   
“Nice having this chat”  
\---  
“He said it was about revenge Mycroft, revenge on whom exactly?” John was sat in a just-so-comfortable office chair on the other side of Mycroft’s expensive cherry wood desk.   
“This might have something to do with me” Mycroft said calmly.   
John frowned, slowly trying to put the pieces together in his mind.   
“Explain” John said after a moment of trying to figure out what Mycroft had meant.   
“I had Moriarty in my possession and was trying to gather information from him so I would assume that this is payback for that.” Anger boiled up inside of John and he glared at Mycroft.   
“So this is your fault?”   
“If I had known that he would kidnap my brother do you honestly believe that I would have tried getting anything out of Moriarty?”   
“Seems like something you’d do just to insure the kidnap of your brother.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Look it doesn’t matter really, because it’s getting worse for Sherlock from what I hear Moriarty had “fun” “playing” with a hot poker on Sherlock’s bare skin.” Mycroft cringed slightly at John’s statement. “So I don’t know pull some strings and try to help find your brother”  
\---  
Sherlock heard the riding crop whiz through the air and felt it land hard across his back for the twelfth time. Sherlock was struck three more times before Moriarty left the room. Sherlock lay on the cold cement floor, his sweaty cheek pressed against the cold of the ground, his body failing to obey the constant command of standing and walking to the bed. Sherlock whimpered slightly as he propped himself up and crawled over to the bed, pulling himself up and laying down on the dingy mattress.   
Sherlock absently let his mind wander and thought about John. He was probably worried and he was probably eating himself into a stupor and Mrs. Hudson was probably worrying a ton about him. Emotions weren’t for Sherlock he didn’t need them and he didn’t show them but now he allowed the tears to flow freely, running down his cheeks and dripping off his chin, letting out small whimpers.   
Sherlock wanted nothing more than to return to 221B and have John push tea and food into his space and have Mrs. Hudson fuss over him. He wouldn’t even mind seeing Mycroft at this point. He was broken and worn and he knew it and if he knew it then so did Moriarty and it would only be a matter of time before he decided to break him completely.  
\---  
John replayed the CCTV footage again for probably the twelfth time. He still couldn't believe how easily Sherlock had been subdued. John was suddenly furious. Furious that it had taken Mycroft this long to think something was amiss. Furious that it had taken Mycroft this long to even look at the CCTV cameras.   
John stared angrily across at Mycroft, handing him back the tablet that he'd been watching the footage on.   
"How could it have taken you this long to notice, this long to even consider thinking something was wrong? Even after I told you, you didn't believe me." John said through clenched teeth.   
"Sherlock likes to play games with me, this isn't the first time he's disappeared and it certainly won't be the last"  
"You don't understand!" John shouted suddenly, standing up abruptly enough to cause Mycroft to flinch. "This isn't a game you fucking idiot! This is Sherlock's life we're talking about!"  
"I do hope you will lower your voice and sit down" Mycroft said calmly but firmly with authority. John swallowed and sat back down in his chain, his body tense with pent up anger. "I will do everything within my power to find Sherlock, I'm sure he's dying to be smothered by your affection"  
"Don't joke about him dying" John snapped before shooing Mycroft out of his flat.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh dear lord I know I just posted Chapter Four the other day but I needed to put this up and I don't think you'll be complaining. Anywho I'm debating on whether or not to make this story really long or a two part story. Either PM me or leave it in the comments. (Though I'm thinking of a two parter)

Sherlock had been strapped down to a board, his head tilted back and his feet slightly in the air. A towel had been put over his face. Panic began to set in and Sherlock wondered what was to come. He heard someone come into the room and for a moment he thought about crying out for help before he heard the all too familiar bone chilling chuckle.   
“Oh Sherlock my dear I wish you could see yourself right now,” Moriarty said, his voice light as he reached down and lightly drug his fingers along Sherlock’s chest. “You look absolutely helpless” Sherlock could hear some sort of metal being dropped on the floor and fear rose up in his chest, and he could feel it constrict his breathing.   
He suddenly felt the all too familiar-ness of water on his face and he gasped in shock. Before he could properly catch his breath another bucket of freezing cold water was poured onto his face. He gasped and sputtered and struggled against his bonds. He heard Moriarty chuckle and a shiver of fear ran up his spine. He was going to drown him, he was going to die right here and now, in this humiliating position and they would probably dump his body and at some point John would stop looking for him. Sherlock gasped and arched up before falling back against the board he was strapped to.   
Another bucket was poured onto his face and Sherlock gasped. He felt as though his lungs were fillings with water and the rational part of his brain screamed at him that he was fine, he was being water-boarded, he wasn’t really drowning, but all he could do was panic like a trapped animal and that was exactly what Moriarty wanted him to do. The water was poured on in intervals over the course of the next hour and a half before the soaking wet towel was pulled off his face. Sherlock squinted at the dim light at glared down at him from the ceiling and frowned when Moriarty leaned over him, smiling like always.   
“Hello Sherlock. Did you have fun?”  
“Eat shit” Sherlock spat, his voice hoarse from lack of use.   
“Sherlock dear you’re becoming simply animalistic”   
\---  
Sherlock wanted to go home, Sherlock wanted to be with John, Sherlock loathed that he hadn’t been more careful that morning. He wasn’t scared so much with the torture anymore, that was normal now. The thought that absolutely terrified him was the thought that maybe no one was even looking for him, he knew it was sentiment but it was the thought that pulled at the four corners of his mind and he could not escape the thought no matter how hard he tried.   
It had been two months and Moriarty had not even hinted at the thought. Though if his brother and whoever else was looking for him and they didn’t have the foggiest clue of where he was then how could there be talk of it, there would be no reason for Moriarty to even bring up the topic. The door to the room he was locked in suddenly opened and one of Moriarty’s large lagies walked in and placed handcuffs around Sherlock’s thin wrists before pushing him forward and making him walk down a hall. Sherlock tried to memorize all the twists and turns they took but it was seemingly endless and everything looked the same, nothing to distinguish any difference, all cold cement walls and leaky ceilings. Sherlock was sure of one thing though, they were somewhere underground.   
Sherlock was pushed into a room that was lit by several candles and bare save a small table with a non-descript table cloth whereupon sat soap and shampoo and a tub. Sherlock was left in the room, handcuffs still on, and out of curiosity he walked over to the bathtub and peered inside. The tub was filled with water and Sherlock stuck a finger in to test the warmth. Nearly scalding, recently filled. The door opened and shut and Sherlock turned to see who had entered.   
“What is this?” Sherlock asked.   
“It’s a tub Sherlock surely your mind hasn’t left you” Moriarty answered, walking over to the tub and sitting on the edge, running his hand through the hot water.  
“Yes, but what am I doing here?”  
“You’re to bathe Sherlock”  
“And what if I refuse?” Sherlock asked, straightening himself. Moriarty quirked an eyebrow and Sherlock knew that he wouldn’t be allowed to refuse, why would he want to? It would be his first bath in two months, it would feel lovely. Moriarty walked over and unlocked the cuffs, letting them fall to the floor with a small metal thunk. Moriarty leaned forward and whispered close to Sherlock’s ear.   
“Undress” Sherlock swallowed thickly, he had never really cared if people saw him naked but the thought of being naked now, in his presence sent shivers down the detective’s spine. Sherlock slowly began unbuttoning his shirt before slipping it off and letting it fall to the floor. He unbuckled his belt and watched at Moriarty sat on the edge of the tub, flicking water about. Sherlock too let his trousers fall to the floor, standing alone in his pants.   
He sighed and swallowed before slipping them off as well. The cold very quickly began to seep into Sherlock’s skin, chilling him and causing goose flesh to rise up on his skin. He longed for the heat of the bath but he had not been told he was allowed to get in. So there he stood.   
“Get in” Sherlock padded over to the tub and slowly, and shakily, got into the tub. He sighed and sank down into the water. Moriarty walked over to the table and grabbed a bar of soap and a washcloth. Moriarty sat back on the edge of the tub. He wetted the washcloth and squeezed it out across Sherlock’s back. Sherlock gasped and straightened his back, shivering as the water trickled down his back.   
“Sherlock” Moriarty addressed softly. Sherlock hummed in response. “I’m gonna take care of you, really good care of you” Moriarty leaned forward and placed a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek, smoothing down Sherlock’s tangled hair.   
“You’ll let me do that won’t you?” Moriarty asked softly against the shell of Sherlock’s ear. “You’ll let me take care of you?”  
“I’m not exactly in a position to argue am I?”   
“Of course not Sherlock, but I would like you to be compliant” Sherlock nodded, once in understanding, and another time in compliance. Moriarty poured water over Sherlock’s hair, soaking it before squirting a generous amount of shampoo into his palm, scrubbing it into Sherlock’s hair.   
Sherlock closed his eyes and relished the feel of being cleaned and imagined for a moment that it was John scrubbing the soap into his hair, imagined that it was John who was taking care of him, after all this had blown over. He was brought back to the present by water being poured over his head. Moriarty rinsed the soap out of his hair and cleaned out the cuts on his torso that hadn’t quite healed yet. Moriarty wandered over to the small table and pulled off a towel, instructing Sherlock to stand. Sherlock stood and Moriarty wrapped the towel around his shoulders, drying his shoulders, moving to his neck then his head, making him step out of the tub so he could dry the rest of him.   
He took longer drying the insides of Sherlock’s thighs than was strictly necessary and it made Sherlock far too uncomfortable. He finished drying Sherlock and instructed him to put his clothes back on. Sherlock did as he was told and slipped his dirty clothes back on, suddenly feeling as though the bath was now null and void because he felt just as dirty as he had before. He followed Moriarty back into his room and found that food had been brought in for him. Sherlock turned to look at Moriarty, wondering suddenly if perhaps this had all been a trick.   
“I told you I’d take care of you Sherlock” Sherlock sat down on the bed and pulled the small metal table that the food was on closer to him, eating faster than he ever had in his life. Within a few minutes all the food was completely gone, the plate nearly licked clean.   
“There you go love” Moriarty said, smoothing down Sherlock’s hair, a gesture and would soon become far too familiar.   
\---  
John walked into Sherlock’s room and sat down on the edge of his bed, picking up whatever happened to be on his night stand. He needed a moment of peace. 221B was crawling with police and secret service and Mrs. Hudson buzzing about his face asking if he was okay wasn’t helping the matter at all in the least.   
He wanted to find Sherlock he really and truly did, but this was too much.There were too many people buzzing about who were only being paid to look for him, they didn’t actually care if he was found, they only cared if they would be getting their next paycheck sometime soon. John sighed and layed back on Sherlock’s bed, staring up at the ceiling. There was an urgent knock on the door and John sighed, rolling out of the bed and opening the door. It was Mycroft. Of course it was.   
“What?” John said, rubbing at his face.   
“We found his coat” John perked up slightly.   
“Where is it?” Mycroft extended his arm and there it was. The beautiful belstaff that could only belong to one person. John longed to see the man who always so mysteriously tucked himself his beloved coat, who turned up his coat collar to look cool, John would give anything to have him back.   
John reached out and took the coat bringing it to his face and breathing in the lingering scent that was purely Sherlock.   
“Have you run any lab tests on it?”John asked softly, the coat still close to his face.   
“We’re working on it right now”  
“So I can keep this then?” Mycroft nodded and John retracted into the bedroom, closing the door. He sat down on the edge of Sherlock’s bed and pressed the coat into his face. The comforting smell of Sherlock enveloped John and he breathed, just breathed. He reached into the pockets and pulled out Sherlock’s scarf, wrapping it around his neck. He slipped on Sherlock’s coat and laid down on the bed and despite everything that was happening, he slept.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long I wanted a larger part of it to be from John's POV. And I'm also sorry this took so long to write because where I wanted this to be from John's POV I'm not that good at writing John. But it's finally here so read it and let me know what you think.

Sherlock wasn’t sure what new hell he’d been introduced to. Moriarty wouldn’t administer the punishments anymore, no he would “save” Sherlock from them. Sherlock was terrified, he knew it would only be a matter of time before his brain gave and he did not want to be present when it did. Sherlock was struggling to keep air in his lungs, the noose around his neck constricting the air flow. The stool that had been placed under his feet allowed him just enough leverage to keep him from choking. Sherlock wasn’t sure how long he’d been hanging there for, just knew that it was long enough for his lungs to want to stop working.  
Moriarty wandered into the room and tilted the stool away from Sherlock’s feet ever so slightly, causing Sherlock to gasp and grab at the rope around his neck and grab at Moriarty. Moriarty switched out Sherlock’s stool for a taller one and Sherlock was finally able to relieve the stress on his neck. Sherlock gasped and coughed, trying to loosen the noose around his neck. Moriarty reached up and loosened and removed the rope and Sherlock fell unceremoniously to the ground, on all fours, panting and coughing.  
“Why?” Sherlock rasped, rubbing at his neck. Moriarty squatted down to Sherlock’s level, grabbing a large handful of his dark hair, pulling his head back.  
“Because this is how you are to be treated, so that I can care for you” Sherlock whimpered as the grip on his hair tightened. “You will learn to become dependent upon me” Moriarty whispered, close to Sherlock’s ear, his cheek pressed against Sherlock’s. “You will learn to love me”  
\---  
“I don’t want to eat Mrs. Hudson, I’m not hungry” John said, pushing at the food that had been presented to him.  
“John, please it’s been three days” John shook his head and stood up from the table, taking his tea and moving to his arm chair.  
Mrs. Hudson gave Mycroft a look and shook her head before heading back to her own flat.  
“John,”  
“Don’t give me the speech”  
“You need to keep yourself healthy. When we find Sherlock, he’s going to need you, need you to be strong and you can’t do that if you’re sick” Mycroft shouted the last bit as John had gotten up and shut himself in Sherlock’s room. John flopped himself on top of Sherlock’s coat and breathed in the fleeting scent that had soothed him for the past four days. John tucked himself into Sherlock’s blankets and ignored the conversations on the other side of the door.  
\---  
Moriarty had plans for Sherlock, special plans. He was going to twist that beautiful mind so it only trusted him, so that even if his dear brother did find them, Sherlock wouldn’t want to leave. It wasn’t everyday that you got to tear down the mental walls of an intellectual equal, and Moriarty was quite enjoying himself.  
\---  
John stood under the stream of the shower long after the water turned cold. He was trying to wash the loneliness and longing off his skin but even the scalding heat couldn’t fix it. Gooseflesh starting raising on John’s skin and he sighed and shut off the shower, stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist.  
He quickly dressed in the privacy of the bathroom as his flat was still swarming with secret service and Mycroft. He wandered into the kitchen, his hair still damp and set about making himself a cuppa. He took longer than normal to get his tea ready and he was quite ready to deal with the impending doom of news that they’d tried to force on him yesterday. He sighed as he sat down, lightly sipping his tea. Once he was finally noticed Mycroft gravitated toward him, sitting down in Sherlock’s chair across from him.  
“We have some news” Mycroft stated. John merely nodded in understand, encouraging Mycroft to continue. “It appears that Moriarty has been spotted going in and out of an old string factory quite frequently.” John cocked an eyebrow.  
“And this has what to do with Sherlock?”  
“We believe he might be being held there.”  
“Might? So what you’re telling me is that there’s the slightest chance that he could, know now, not be there” Mycroft sighed and his jaw tensed.  
“John,”  
“I want you to be one hundred percent sure before we burst into one of Moriarty’s operations because he could take him and hide him and we be right back to where we started and then we’d never get Sherlock back” John tried to keep his cool, he really did but Mycroft’s lack of trying was starting to get on every one of his nerves.  
“Do try to understand that I am doing everything within my power and capabilities to try and find him. Do you not think that I care about his safety as much as you do?” John shook his head and stared down into his tea. “I will make sure that we find him John, that I can promise you.”  
\---  
John was still sleeping in Sherlock’s room even though his smell was nearly wore out of the sheets by now. It was still comforting somehow, to sleep in his best friend’s bed, even if lately he hadn’t been doing much sleeping.  
Nightmares would keep him awake at night and refuse to let go of it’s hold on his subconscious. John rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms, god he was tired. He sighed and tucked himself down under the blankets and attempted sleep.  
\---  
Distent screaming, cold air and walls closing in around him. Running, running, running around the maze of never ending twists and turns, sharp corner and blurred edges. The cement floor making his shoes seem louder than they really were.  
Running, running, had to find him, had to save him. Needed to make sure he was safe. He burst into the door when he finally found it. He was there, sitting alone on the cold cement floor, beaten and bruised, battered and abused.  
But there he was. He heaved a sigh of relief and walked towards him, arms outstretched. And he screamed, he shied away from his hands and he screamed.  
\---  
John bolted up, the blankets tangled around him. He was panting and his heart beating so fast and so wild he was sure that it would fly up and out of his chest. He fell back against the pillows and tried to regain his breathing. A dream, only a dream. But it had felt so real and Sherlock had looked so scared and John’s only hope was that he wouldn’t refuse him when they finally did find him.  
\---


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! YOU MAY READ THE BEGINNING OF THE CHAPTER IN FACT I SUGGEST YOU DO THAT BUT AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER THERE IS A RAPE SCENE IF THIS IS A TRIGGER OR MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE DO NOT READ I WILL PUT THE WORD WARNING BEFORE HAND IF YOU WISH TO READ THE BEGINNING OF THE CHAPTER. I'M SORRY IF THIS OFFENDS ANYONE
> 
> P.S sorry for not updating in some time I knew the rape scene had to be in there and I didn't know how to approach it so that's why it took so long, sorry.

Scraped skin and bruised sides. Sherlock was fairly certain that there wasn’t a single inch of his body that hadn’t been abused. He was currently sitting in a very nice room, a room with high ceilings and warm colours, large windows and comfortable furniture. He didn’t even really mind that the man who had done this to him was currently combing through the tangles of his hair, rubbing his head. Sherlock wanted to lean back into the touch, but the touch wasn’t warm, the touch wasn’t comforting, the touch was lies and evil and hurt.  
The touch was beatings and bruises, scars and burns, broken skin and infected wounds. Once his hair had been thoroughly combed through Moriarty instructed him to lay on the couch and place his head in his lap. Sherlock did as he was told, knowing the consequences of not obeying orders. Moriarty traced the scabs, the scars and bruises on Sherlock’s face, smiling smugly.   
“Sherlock,” Sherlock looked up at his captor. “You know I care about you right?”  
“Yes” Moriarty’s open palm came down hard across Sherlock’s cheek.   
“You will address me as Sir.” Sherlock reached up and rubbed his cheek. “Now answer the question Sherlock dear”  
“Yes Sir” Sherlock said quietly, still rubbing his stinging cheek. He’d had worse than the slap but it had come unexpected and hard and he simply wasn’t prepared. Moriarty carded his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, gentle and soothing.   
\---  
Mycroft’s mobile beeped with a text alert from where it sat on the side table. He frowned and picked it up. He opened the message and downloaded the three pictures that were waiting for him. They were of Sherlock, beaten, bruised and bloodied. Mycroft sighed, setting his phone down and scrubbing his hands over his face. His mobile jingled and he reached over and answered it.   
“Hello?”  
“Hello Mr.Holmes, I trust you’re having a good day?”  
“What do you need Moriarty?”  
“Need? I don’t need anything I have everything I need right here. Red is a rather fitting shade on your little brother don’t you think?”  
“Let him go” Mycroft said, his voice stern.  
“Let him go? Hmm no I don’t think so, he’s become such a nice little pet. You should hear him beg, it’s adorable” Mycroft heard the click and listened to the emptiness at the end of the line for several moments before sinking down into his chair and sighing deeply.   
\---   
Sherlock took hit after hit to his face, the last one tipping the chair he was tied to onto the floor. He gasped out when the heel of a boot was pushed down into his stomach. He tasted the metallic sting of blood as the boot was pushed harder into his stomach, making him cough up blood, the thick red matter smearing his chin. Moriarty tisked from where he sat on Sherlock’s dingy bed.   
“Oh Sherlock, sweetie.” Moriarty said, standing up and crouching over Sherlock. “You look absolutely pathetic” He ran his hand down the left side of Sherlock’s face, watching as he coughed and sputtered.   
“Would you like some help Sherlock dear?” Sherlock nodded. “Then you know how to ask”  
“Please,” Sherlock wheezed. “Please sir, help me” Moriarty nodded and the weight on Sherlock’s chest lightened and he coughed, getting more air into his lungs. Moriarty assisted in the sitting up process and patted Sherlock's back as he coughed some more.  
"There we go love, get it all out" Moriarty said, rubbing Sherlock's back before drawing him into his chest and soothing him.   
\---  
Sherlock was warm and content and he willed his eyes to stay shut, he didn't want to know what part of this hell hole Moriarty had drug him to. Sherlock snuggled further into the warm blanket and let his mind drift into 221B, he thought of the warm fire, thought of John's warm smile and wished again that he was home.   
A hand was rubbing at his back and he slowly opened his eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them. A hand was run through his hair and the owner of the said appendage sighed.   
"Sherlock are you aware of how peaceful you look when you're sleeping? " Moriarty asked in that irritating sing-songy Irish tone he possessed. Sherlock sighed and shook his head. Moriarty grabbed a handful of Sherlock's hair and wrenched his head back, exposing his neck and causing Sherlock to cry out. "Oh pet, you're absolutely lovely" Sherlock whimpered and Moriarty smiled, leaning down a placing a kiss on Sherlock's neck, over his adam's apple.   
Sherlock swallowed thickly, his body betraying his mind. Moriarty traced lightly down Sherlock's neck, teasing around the collar of his shirt. He nipped lightly at the soft skin on Sherlock's neck, his hands moving to undo the buttons of Sherlock's shirt, exposing the bruised and scarred skin of Sherlock's chest. Moriarty placed his open palm on Sherlock's abdomen, curling his fingers into Sherlock's soft skin. He moved his mouth up to Sherlock’s ear and whispered, “I think I’m going to take you tomorrow”

WARNING!  
\---  
Sherlock was given a bath before being tied naked, face down on a random bed in a random room. It was degrading and dirty and Sherlock was absolutely freezing. Sherlock heard the door open and close and listened as Moriarty instructed his men to wait outside the door and not to open it no matter what they heard.   
He listened to the shuffling of Moriarty’s clothes and shuddered slightly. Before Sherlock understood what was happening there was weight on the back of his thighs and Moriarty’s surprisingly warm hands on either cheek of his arse. Moriarty rubbed his thumbs in small circles before spreading Sherlock’s cheeks apart.   
Sherlock squirmed when Moriarty licked his opening, it felt dirty, if felt wrong and Sherlock didn’t like it one bit but he was well aware of what was going to happen and if he knew anything about Moriarty he knew this wouldn’t be the only time something like this would happen.   
Sherlock heard what he assumed was was the cap of a lube bottle being opened before he heard the wet sounds of Moriarty slicking himself up. Sherlock attempted to brace himself for the impact when he felt the tip of Moriarty’s dick pressed against his entrance. Sherlock screamed as Moriarty shoved his way in, even with Moriarty slicked up Sherlock had not been prepared and it felt as if he were being torn in two. Tears welled up in Sherlock’s eyes and he tried to place himself elsewhere but the constant pounding into his backside was hard to ignore.   
Sherlock bit into his lip in an attempt to stop his tears but they would not, they trailed down his cheeks and made his body shake but it did nothing to deter the madman pounding into him. Sherlock tried to picture Moriarty as someone else, someone who loved him, but no, someone who loved him would never treat him in such a way as this, using his body as an object. Moriarty gripped tightly onto Sherlock’s hips, thrusting even faster into Sherlock’s body, causing the bed to shake. With a few more violent thrusts Moriarty came inside of Sherlock before pulling out and quickly wiping himself up, untying Sherlock and leaving.   
\---  
For the first time since Sherlock was seven he sobbed. He sobbed on that dirty bed as Moriarty’s come dried on the insides of his thighs, he curled into himself and let lose everything he’d ever held back, angry sobbing that quickly turned into screaming, for so long and so loud that it left his throat dry and ragged, he screamed until no more noise came out and continued long after that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! There is another act of non consensual sex I will put a warning before it happens and will say SAFE when it is over.
> 
> In other news I finally finished a chapter. Also this story for sure will have at least ten chapters and I'm kind of thinking maybe making it like 15.

For the first time in nearly a month 221B was completely empty. John was weary of the silence, it left him far too much time to think about things. He missed Sherlock, missed him dearly. As much as John hated most of his antics he missed them. He wanted Sherlock home, home and safe where Mrs. Hudson could smother him with affection and where John could worry about him and where Sherlock could complain.  
He was still wearing Sherlock’s coat, in fact he hardly taken it off at all. It was comforting somehow, as though Sherlock were still there in some distant way. Mycroft had said they had a lead and was snooping around to try and find out more information but John worried that if they wasted any more time there wouldn’t be any Sherlock left to rescue.  
\---  
“It’s a delicate situation John” Mycroft tried to explain gently to the irate army doctor pacing about.  
“A delicate situation!” John shouted, rage suddenly bubbling to the surface. “Bull shit Mycroft! You have every capability of going and getting him. There doesn’t need to be any bargaining.”  
“John,”  
“He’s been there for three months!”  
“Don’t you think I know that?” Mycroft said, his tone raising just a tad, not shouting or yelling, not really, just loud enough to be frightening. “He is my brother and despite what you may think I do care a great deal about him and I want him home safe just as much as you do.”  
\---  
Sherlock was unsure of exactly how much time had passed since he’d been kidnapped but he was sure that it was quite a long while. He was sore and tired and just wanted to go home, but that wasn’t a possibility, at least not right now. Sherlock sighed and curled into himself more, cold given the fact that Moriarty had taken his clothes when he had defiled him and had not yet given them back and Sherlock thought it was likely he would never get them back.  
Sherlock had newly forming bruises on his hips, dark purple finger marks and he was sure that he would have scars around his wrists given the amount of times he’d been tied to things for varying amounts of time. Sherlock had lost a considerable amount of weight, which was dangerous given that he hadn’t weighed a whole lot when he’d first been taken. It wasn’t that Moriarty wasn’t feeding him, he just wasn’t feeding him everyday and when he did it wasn’t a whole lot and nothing too nourishing.  
Sherlock’s bum hurt but it was a sort of ache that he could ignore for a little while and he still felt sticky and dirty, he tried to forget what Moriarty had done to him but everytime he shifted or moved a dull ache would shoot through his body and the memory would flood back to him behind his eyelids.  
\---  
WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

It wasn’t everyday that you were hung from the ceiling and repeatedly beaten with a bullwhip, but this had been going on for nearly twenty minutes now, Moriarty watching as a henchman connected the whip to Sherlock’s bareback, having Sherlock count. He was up to 23 before Moriarty told the man that, that was enough. A stool was put under Sherlock’s feet to relieve the weight on his shoulders but he was not unchained from the ceiling.  
Moriarty wandered around to the back of Sherlock and licked at the blood that was dripping from an open wound on Sherlock’s back. Sherlock shivered in disgust and tried to pull away from the warm, wet mouth wandering around on his back.  
“You taste delicious Sherlock” Sherlock blanched and was thankful that Moriarty was still standing behind him. Moriarty grabbed hold of Sherlock’s bare arse, squeezing it lightly. “I still remember the feel of being inside you Sherlock” Moriarty whispered against Sherlock’s ear. “You were fantastic” Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed thickly, trying to keep the thoughts at bay. “I wonder what your cum would taste like?” Moriarty said, his voice husky as he bit at Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock kept his eyes squeezed shut, trying to ignore Moriarty but it was hard when he was rubbing at his abdomen and his body was betraying his mind. Sherlock turned his head away from Moriarty and made a small crying noise in the back of his throat when Moriarty wrapped a hand around him.  
“Would you Sherlock, would you come from this? Could I make you?” Sherlock whimpered and tried to pull away from Moriarty but the firm grip on his neck stopped him from getting very far. “Sherlock don’t tell me you don’t love this” Moriarty said, stroking Sherlock slowly. Sherlock whimpered again and shifted his feet around on the stool. “Sherlock you are truly magnificent, a flawless being” Sherlock tilted his hips in an attempt to get out of Moriarty’s grip but he merely shifted the angle of Moriarty’s grip.  
“Don’t defy me Sherlock” Moriarty said, tightening his grip. “You’re not getting out of this one” Moriarty moved to the front of Sherlock, Sherlock’s position and height difference making it easy for Moriarty to simply lean down and take the head of Sherlock’s cock into his mouth. Sherlock gasped, never before had someone ever done something like this to him and he wished the first time had been with someone he cared about.  
Sherlock groaned and turned his head into the crook of his arm when Moriarty took Sherlock all the way. The sensation was unbelievable and Sherlock wanted to enjoy it, wanted to want it, because it felt incredible, but it was Moriarty’s mouth around him, the same man who three days before had raped him. Moriarty swirled his tongue and Sherlock struggled to keep his hips still, trying not to thrust up into the warm heat of Moriarty’s mouth. Moriarty bobbed his head and hollowed his cheeks and Sherlock gasped. Sherlock knew it wouldn’t take much longer and he tried to pull away from the heat of Moriarty’s mouth, not wanting Moriarty to be the cause of his pleasure. Moriarty grabbed hold of Sherlock’s hips and kept him from moving away. Moriarty hollowed his cheeks and with a few more pulls Sherlock was coming down the back of Moriarty’s throat.  
\---  
SAFE! SAFE! SAFE!

Sherlock was tired and he just wanted to sleep but no such thing was about to happen as he was currently being tied to a chair. Moriarty flexed his hands, cracking his knuckles. He slipped on his set of brass knuckles over his right hand, wandering over to Sherlock and crouching down in front of him.  
“Sherlock, I’m going to ask you some questions and if you answer incorrectly,” Moriarty looked down at his hand “well lets just say there’ll be repercussions.” Moriarty stood back up and nodded, indicating that it was fine for his henchmen to leave. Moriarty turned around and stared down at his hand.  
“Who’s John Watson?”  
“My friend” Moriarty whipped around and brought his fist down hard against Sherlock’s cheek.  
“Wrong Sherlock my love, who’s John Watson?”  
“My friend” Sherlock responded again and again Moriarty’s fist connected with Sherlock’s face, this time his jaw. This went on for a few more rounds, the incorrect answer resulting in Moriarty’s fist connecting with a part of Sherlock’s face. Thick dark blood dripped from Sherlock’s lip and down above his left eyebrow. Moriarty questioned him several more times before Sherlock finally responded in a correct manner.  
"Who's John Watson" Moriarty asked, his grip tight and firm on Sherlock's chin.  
"I don't know" Sherlock responded, his voice breathy and a bit distant. "I don't know a John Watson"  
\---  
Sherlock cried out as Moriarty etched the letters into the skin near his hip, _JIM_.  
"So you'll always know who you belong to" Moriarty said, placing heat over the cut, smiling as Sherlock cried out again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my I'm terribly sorry that I've been absent for so long. Had a lot of things to do for school and got busy and had writers block and I usually only like to write on my laptop but given that my laptop is shit.   
> Eh. anyway here is a chapter, again I'm sorry that it's short I haven't worked on this in so long that it was difficult to get back in the swing of things but here it is so I hope you enjoy :)

The ache was constant and painful and the flat felt far too large and empty without anyone else there. Mycroft had sent everyone home, claiming that John needed his rest but it didn’t matter one way or the other to John, he’d hadn’t been sleeping. In fact he’d been up for a week straight, he couldn’t sleep, not since the night terrors started.  
John had been keeping himself awake on coffee, strong tea, and odd energy drinks that he’d found at different shops. John wanted Mycroft to find Sherlock, he wanted Sherlock to be home. It had been four months since John had seen Sherlock and he wished that they hadn’t been fighting right before he was taken, he felt horrible every day that passed, knowing that he’d been upset with something stupid that Sherlock had done but now he was gone and John wasn’t sure if Sherlock would ever be the same again if they ever did find him.  
\---  
Sherlock shivered as the lukewarm water washed over his head. Never before has a bath felt better than it did right now, and Moriarty was being so gentle. Moriarty ran his hand through Sherlock’s hair as he poured water over his head, in an attempt to comb out Sherlock’s wild curls.  
It made Sherlock think of his mother, the way she always used to try to get Sherlock to brush his hair, insisting that it was snarly and needed to be brushed, but each time Sherlock would refuse and so on bath night his mother would violently rip through his hair with a comb until the snarls were gone and until his hair was tame.  
But Moriarty was not his mother and Sherlock knew that his caress would be gentle, would be caring and soft. But he knew they were coming from someone who was no such thing. Moriarty pulled too hard on Sherlock’s hair, ripping a small chunk of it out.  
“Ow” Sherlock cried, his hand flying up to touch the spot where the hair had been. Moriarty slapped his hand away, brushing his own over the spot and leaning down with gentle lips to kiss the wound.  
“I’m sorry” Moriarty said, pressing his forehead into Sherlock’s hair.  
Sherlock sighed, “I forgive you”  
\---  
Sherlock hated it. Hated the feel of Moriarty’s mouth on his skin, hated the way it make him feel, slimy and dirty and used. Sherlock lay flat on his back, in the light room with the high ceilings and comfortable furniture on a king sized bed with soft sheets that smelt of lemon and reminded him of home.  
Moriarty was next to him, placing kisses along various bruises, cuts and scars, admiring each one and regaling Sherlock in a tale of how each was acquired as if Sherlock didn’t already know.  
“I like this one” Moriarty said, kissing against each tender letter in the rough carving of his name on Sherlock’s hip. Sherlock whimpered, and Moriarty smiled against his skin. “I hope you have fond memories of us whenever you look at it.” Sherlock sighed and turned his head away. Moriarty smiled to himself and continued on with his exploration of Sherlock’s marred body.  
\---  
John jiggled his leg up and down, listening in anticipation as Mycroft explained the situation to him.  
“So if we bring a team of specially trained people in then we should be able to retrieve Sherlock”  
“Okay so how long would this take?” John asked, frowning at Mycroft’s calm expression. Mycroft cringed slightly but regained composure quickly.  
“Two weeks at the minimum” John’s eyes grew wide, nearly bulging out of his skull.  
“Two weeks? Mycroft it’s been four months, if we wait any longer who knows what he’ll do to Sherlock, who knows what he’s done!” Mycroft sighed.  
“I understand John, but it is a very delicate situation we can’t just bust down the door and go crashing about with our heads cut off” John sighed, crossing his arms and falling back into his chair.  
“Two weeks though?”  
“Possibly more, I’ll do my best”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm super sorry that it's been so long since I posted the last chapter, I never really mapped out this story so as my brain puts pieces together then the story comes together. I've also been busy with school and some other things. But I wanted most of this chapter to be about John so that was also my struggle and I wanted to give you guys a longer chapter but here you go I hope you like it. At this point the story is almost over and a second part will be coming out. Also as a side note this story is also available on Fanfiction.net if you want that format (or want it on the app if you've got it). But I really hope you guys like it, feedback helps me write faster.

The grass was green and soft under John's bare feet, his head tipped back in laughter at something ridiculous. He fell back in almost slow motion, a smile still plastered onto his face. He leaned his head to the side, coming face to face with Sherlock, he smiled wider, the situation seeming so perfect. John frowned slightly when the light no longer lit up Sherlock's features. He sat up, turning around, suddenly finding himself in the morgue at Saint Barts.   
He frowned, wandering over to the examination table. He gasped at the sight, Sherlock, his face beaten and bloodied, all colour drained out of his features. John could suddenly feel tears pushing at his eyes, he choked back a sob.   
"I'm so sorry John" the cold, distant voice of Mycroft said.   
John gasped suddenly, flying up in bed. John sat for a moment, breathing heavily. He wiped the sweat off his face and took in the fact that yes indeed he was laying in a pool of his own sweat. He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed, slowly standing and making his way to the bathroom. He turned the cold water on in the sink, gripping the edge of the sink so hard his knuckles turned white.   
How'd he manage to fall asleep? He definitely hadn't meant to. He sighed, cupping his hands under the water before splashing it onto his warm face. It did little to calm him. He practiced the breathing exercises his therapist had taught him but it did nothing. Rage suddenly enveloped him and he punched the mirror, cracking the glass and cutting his knuckles, but he didn’t care. He stormed into the kitchen, throwing the cupboard doors open, taking out plates and glasses, throwing them across the room into the living room and listening to them smash against the wall behind Sherlock’s chair. Once he’d smashed all the plates and glasses he let out a frustrated sigh, throwing himself down in his arm chair, letting out a strangled sob. He just wanted Sherlock home.   
\---  
Sherlock cried out, blubbering like a small child.   
“I’m sorry” Sherlock sobbed.   
“You’re lying!” Moriarty shouted, striking him again across his back with the thick leather belt. Sherlock let out another strangled sob. Moriarty moved around to the front of Sherlock and grabbed his chin, forcing his head up.   
“You lied to me Sherlock”  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry”  
“Who is John Watson?”  
“I don’t know, I swear I don’t know” Sherlock said, tears rolling down his cheeks and onto Moriarty’s fingers.   
“Then why did you speak of him?” Moriarty ground out, fury in his eyes.   
“I don’t know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” Moriarty threw his face, storming out of the room. Sherlock lay on his bed, sobbing uncontrollably, he was sorry, he really was. Sorry, sorry sorry, sorry for everything.   
\---  
John was forced to go to the shooting range, Mycroft insisted and Mycroft insisted he go with.   
“What the hell do I need gun training for? I know how to handle a gun.” Mycroft sighed, leaning against the counter.   
“Because, while you are well versed in gun managment I do believe you need a refresher course and judging by the amount of broken china in your flat and your scabbed knuckles I would guess that you have quite a lot of pent up anger.” John clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists at his sides.   
“I’m fine.” John ground out between gritted teeth.   
“Yes so I understand” Mycroft said, grabbing the targets from the man behind the counter. And heading out to the range, John following close behind him. The buzzer sounded as a go ahead and Mycroft walked out onto the field, placing the targets at 15 meters.   
When he came back he stood next to John, watching him. John sighed, raising the hand gun up and aiming at the target, squeezing the trigger and hitting the target nearly dead center. John turned back to look at Mycroft, raising an eyebrow. Mycroft kept a stony expression of indifference and motioned for John to continue. John shot the other four bullets, all of them lodging in the target around the same spot. Once John was finished the safety buzzer went off and Mycroft went out and retrieved the target that John had shot at. He and John stared at it closely, Mycroft nodded.   
“Told you I was fine” John said, walking back inside.   
\---  
They hadn’t made any real progress in getting Sherlock out, not the way that Mycroft had promised. Mycroft had said two weeks but it had been closer to four at this point. Lord only knew what Sherlock was having to deal with. John clenched his fists at his sides, he sighed, leaning back in his arm chair. It wasn’t fair, Mycroft said he would try John knew that Mycroft was a busy man and he knew that he had a lot of responsibilities but to John none of that mattered, all that mattered was getting Sherlock home. John wanted to hit Mycroft, wanted to wipe his smug expression off his face.   
John had long since reached the point of exhaustion and was simply running off fumes at this point but he dreaded going to sleep for fear of the night terrors. He sighed, heaving himself up and out of his arm chair, heading to the bathroom. He reached into the shower and turned it on, letting the hot steam fill the small bathroom. He gripped the edge of the sink, peering into the cracked, broken mirror, he’d nearly forgotten that he’d broken it.   
Unwarranted emotion suddenly crept in and John felt hot tears roll down his cheeks and down off his chin. He couldn’t help it, he’d kept everything in for so long, letting himself only feel anger but now it didn’t matter, nothing mattered but Sherlock and Sherlock wasn’t here so it didn’t mattered. John let the tears fall freely, let out a choked sob. God, what was happening?   
\---  
Mycroft had explained to John that they were ready to make a move on Moriarty in order to retrieve Sherlock.   
“I’m going with” John stated firmly.   
Mycroft let out an exasperated sigh. “How many times must I tell you, this is a delicate situation and we need experts going in.”  
“I’m not sitting on the sidelines waiting, I’m going with” Mycroft sighed again.   
“I’ll make arrangements for you” John saw Mycroft out before falling into his arm chair with an exhausted sigh. This was it, he was going to be getting Sherlock back.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my lord I am so sorry that this has taken me so long to update. But here it is, the second to last chapter. But do not fret my darlings, the healing process will come, it will be it's own separate fic and should be out fairly soon after this is finished as I am actually working on it once again. Anywho hope you enjoy this chapter and as always feedback is encouraged

Water surrounded Sherlock and flood in through his mouth and into his lungs. He kicked his legs around, attempting to push up and out of the water to fill his lungs with air rather than the dark, cold water. There was pressure on top of his head, holding him down in the water, he was sure that he was about to die, this was it, this was the end, death by drowning. He suddenly was pulled up and out by his hair and his lungs were quick to take in the air, coughing up the water that was lodging his air ways.   
Before Sherlock could fully recover he was dunked back into the water. He flailed around more frantically, kicking his arms and legs, grabbing at the hand that was holding him under. Sherlock quickly felt himself becoming more tired, his kicking becoming slower. He swallowed in a large mouthful of water before being heaved out of the water and thrown onto the ground. Sherlock coughed violently, trying to expel the water from his lungs. Moriarty wandered over to Sherlock and hovered over him, watching as he choked and coughed.   
“Sherlock, you’re pathetic” Moriarty said stonily, turning away from him.   
“Please,” Sherlock coughed out. “Please help me sir” Sherlock said, weakly grabbing hold of the edge of his pant leg. Moriarty turned back to look at him, crouching down to look at him. He placed his hand under Sherlock’s chin, lifting up his head slightly. Sherlock coughed weakly and Moriarty shook his head but nodded to his two laggies to lift Sherlock up and haul him back to his room  
\---  
John sat at the desk, papers strewn all around him, and sighed. Helping to plan a extraction of Sherlock proved to be more difficult than John had anticipated. A tray was sat down in front of him and he looked up, his eyes meeting Miss Hudson’s.   
“I brought you some tea and nibbles dear”   
“Thank you” John said softly, forcing a smile out. Miss Hudson sadly smiled back, pulling out the chair next to John and sitting down in in, placing her hand on John’s arm.   
“Dear you know you don’t have to do this, we all know how much you’ve been helping, Sherlock will understand” John closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose.   
“I know” he said, exhaling. “But I want to”  
\---  
When John woke the next morning from where he had passed out on the table at some point in the night he heard low whispers in the living room and turned around frowning. Mycroft was there, speaking hurriedly to Lestrade.   
“Yes but I don’t know what Sherlock’s condition is like we don’t know what Moriarty did to him in there his mind could be fragile, we must execute extreme precaution” Lestrade let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.   
“I understand that I just,” Lestrade chose that moment to look up, his eyes meeting John’s. Mycroft followed Lestrade’s gaze and looked at John who sat up straighter.   
“What’s going on?” John asked frowning.   
“Nothing you need concern yourself with” Mycroft said tightly. John’s frown deepened and he stood from his chair, walking over to where Mycroft and Lestrade were standing.   
“What’s going on.” John asked, his voice firmer. Lestrade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.   
“We’re worried about the state of Sherlock’s mind and Mycroft is afraid of overloading his brain” Mycroft glared at Lestrade as he finished his sentence. John frowned, crossing his arms and licking his lips.   
“I’m sure his mind is well intact” John said, a slight amount of anger in his tone.   
“We don’t know that, we have no idea what happened, we have no idea how Moriarty treated him in there” Mycroft said tightly. “I know you adore him and have the utmost faith in him but he is still human” John sighed angrily, tensing his jaw and gritting his teeth.   
“So what are you proposing?”   
“Well it would be ideal for you to lay low once we get there and for you to not look for Sherlock by yourself” Lestrade interjected calmly, causing Mycroft to clench his jaw shut and John to tense up.   
“So you think I’m going to jeopardize the mission?” John asked defensively.   
“Nobody said that John we just need to make sure everyone involved is exercising extreme precaution” Lestrade said, standing in between John and Mycroft as John made a move to close in on the older Holmes brother. “We will get Sherlock out exactly as planned as long as everyone involved sticks to the plan” John continued to frown but nodded all the same, deflating slightly.   
\---  
Sherlock hadn’t seen Moriarty in a few days and he was beginning to wonder if something was amiss. The last time Sherlock had seen him he had looked stressed though he would never admit it and would definitely never admit it to Sherlock. Sherlock sighed and leaned back against the cold stone wall, shivering slightly as the cool temperature. He had just started drifting off when he heard the shouting, the loud heavy footsteps, and the door of his room being slammed open.   
His eyes flew open and he jumped to his feet, standing on top of his bed. All the people in his room were covered in heavy gear and masks and they were all talking so much at the same time.   
“We found him!” was shouted into a walkie-talkie attached to one man’s shoulder. One of the men reached out for Sherlock to grab him and he jumped out of the way, refusing to let the man grab hold of him. It took three men to wrestle him to the ground and carry him up and out of the basement of the complex.   
They carried him to the ambulance, setting him down on a stretcher and held down his arms as the paramedics took a look at him. A short blond man ran up to Sherlock, standing in front of him.  
“Sherlock” he breathed out, tears in his eyes. Sherlock furrowed his brow at the man. The man looked concerned, looking past Sherlock to somewhere behind him before looking back at Sherlock.   
“Sherlock come on, don’t play that game you know who I am” the man sounded just a tad unsure of himself and Sherlock shook his head. “It’s me, John, John Watson.” Sherlock shook his head more fiercely, pushing at the men holding him down and at the paramedics hands that were on his back.   
“Sherlock,” the man said, reaching out to grab for Sherlock. Sherlock made a strangled noise in the back of his throat that grew louder and turned into a scream. Tears welled up in the man's eyes and he turned his back, walking back towards the car he came in. He could still hear Sherlock screaming even after he closed the door.   
\---  
8 Hours Earlier  
There were far too many people in John’s flat. Far too many people and far too many maps, busy putting the finishing touches on the rescue mission. John stood in the doorway of the kitchen, sipping his steadily growing cold tea. He was nervous, worried that Sherlock would be severely injured and would maybe not want to come home. He tried telling himself that, that wouldn’t be the case but he had no way to know for sure.   
He watched with baited breath as the men in his flat began rolling up the maps, collecting their papers, jackets, phones, and pens, filing out in a fast but orderly manner. Lestrade and Mycroft were the only two left and they escorted John to a shiny black Buick, pushing him into the back seat and debriefing him on the way to the warehouse where Sherlock was, the warehouse Sherlock was to be rescued from.   
John watched the men suit up as he felt his pulse quicken and his anxiety spike.   
He wanted to be one of the ones suiting up but it had been decided that it might be better for John to stay behind and wait. And wait John did for forty five minutes he waited until he heard the chime of the walkie and the crackle of the man on the other end, “we don't think he's here” waited for Mycroft’s huffed agitated response of, “keep looking” waited that extra twenty minutes until he heard a somewhat cheerful cry of “we found him” and he waited with baited breath and heart in his throat for them to bring Sherlock out.   
\---  
Now  
John sat in the back seat of the Buick, rocking slowly back and forth. He hadn't recognized him. Oh god what did he do to him? John thought, letting a small sob escape his throat. He had looked awful John had thought at first. When they brought him out John wasn't even entirely sure that it was Sherlock. He was so small now, seemingly thinner than he had been before, his hair was long and hung into his eyes and he was still wearing the same clothes he had on the day Moriarty took him.   
John shivered remembering how Sherlock only moments before had shied away from the brightness of the sun, almost fearing it as though it would hurt him. The door to the car was opened and John was snapped out of his reprieve. Mycroft slid into the seat next to him and sighed.  
“They're taking him to Bart’s and we're following in the car” Mycroft stated tiredly. John opened his mouth to talk but Mycroft, as if he could read John's mind, beat him to the punch. “We aren't sure why Sherlock had such a violent reaction to you as he seemed only a tad weary of my presence. After they examine his physical health they'll be running tests on the state of his mind” John nodded in understanding, leaning back in the seat, only just then realizing that the car was in motion.  
John swallowed thickly before speaking, “will I be allowed to see him?”  
Mycroft sighed, drawing in a large breath, “yes you may see him but be sure that he does not see you”  
\---  
He almost looked worse than he had before now that he was under the scrutiny of the bright fluorescents of St. Bart's. They had bathed him, though John heard that was a trial as he had kept screaming and trying to bite the nurses, it looked as though someone had brushed his hair too. He was so small, even as he rested he looked so broken, looked to be in so much need.   
They had run most of the tests already, he was underweight and malnourished, the doctors had said there was repeated injury to the rib cage and two of them were fractured, they had to rebreak two fingers to properly set them but otherwise there was no physical damage. John had overheard Sherlock’s doctor talking to Mycroft about scars and the multitude of them.   
Mycroft had hushed him and told the doctor that when Sherlock was ready to talk about them he would. John could see some of the scars, he had dark marks around his wrists, and odd jagged marks around his neck. John wondered again, though not for the first time, what Moriarty had done to him.   
“Awful it's it?” Mycroft said, causing John to jump.   
“It's so bad” John whispered quietly. “What happened to him?”  
Mycroft sighed, “we might never know, he hasn't spoken at all, once they run the cognitive tests they're thinking therapy.” John let out a shuddering sigh.  
“Do you think he'll ever go back to how he used to be? Do you think he'll remember me?”  
Mycroft sighed again, shaking his head. “Right now I don't know, it's entirely likely that he'll never be the same again, no one but him and Moriarty know what happened in there but whatever it was must have truly been a nightmare.” John nodded, swallowing thickly.   
“You should get some sleep” Mycroft said softly. John nodded, moving away from the room and walking slowly down the hallway  
\---  
John laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep, he was far too worried about Sherlock. John sighed, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and padding downstairs into the kitchen. He wandered into Sherlock's room, grabbing Sherlock's belstaff before throwing on his own jacket and wandering downstairs and out onto the street to hail a cab.   
Once in the cab he laid the coat across his lap, smoothing out the creases in the fabric. He rubbed the fabric of the lapel in between his thumb and forefinger until he reached Bart's.   
He stood in the elevator with the coat draped over his arm, tapping his foot impatiently. He snuck past the nurses station and down the hall to Sherlock's room and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Sherlock asleep. He crept into Sherlock's room and watched him for a moment. His cheeks were sunken in and he was far paler than John had ever seen a person be. John sighed, walking over to the chair next to the bed and draping the long coat over the back before turning and heading home.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, I had a lot of personal things going on.  
> You'll all be happy to know that even though this will be the final chapter of this story the sequel (which will consist of the healing process) has already been started and should be up soon.  
> At any rate I hope you enjoy :)  
> P.S I may also be editing some chapters but do not worry I won't be removing anything as I do so I'll just be replacing the old with the new *whispers* you may not even notice a difference who knows.

Sherlock's POV  
Bright, the lights were far too bright and it made Sherlock squeeze his eyes shut even tighter. He could hear people talking quietly and softly but wasn't quite able to make out any words. Sherlock slowly let his eyes flutter open before moving around the room. The room was mostly white and reeked of disinfectant, Sherlock scrunched his nose up at the smell.  
Sherlock looked over to the door where there were people standing, talking quietly. He could just barely make out a faint, “shh he's awake” before one of them began walking over to him, moving a coat out of the way before sitting in the chair next to his head.  
“Sherlock” the man said gently and Sherlock turned his head to look at him better. It was Mycroft, the corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched, into an almost smile. Mycroft gave Sherlock a tight smile in return.  
“Do you know who I am?” Mycroft asked flatly. Sherlock nodded.  
“Of course Mycroft” Sherlock said softly. Mycroft let out a breath and nodded.  
“I'm going to ask you a few questions Sherlock and I need you to be honest with me” Sherlock frowned at his statement but nodded all the same.  
“Where is Moriarty?” Mycroft asked calmly. Sherlock's eyes widened and he shook his head.  
“I don't know” he said, still shaking his head “I don't know” Mycroft sighed, pressing his palms together.  
“Sherlock you don't need to protect him, he can't hurt you anymore” Mycroft said softly.  
“I don't know” Sherlock said, slightly louder than he had before. Mycroft nodded.  
“Okay, alright, I believe you” Mycroft said, resting a hand on Sherlock’s forearm to get Sherlock to stop shaking his head. Sherlock stopped and looked down at Mycroft's hand and then back up to Mycroft before wrenching his arm out of Mycroft's grasp.  
Mycroft cleared his throat, setting both hands down in his lap.  
“Will you tell me what happened?” Mycroft asked softly. Sherlock began shaking his head again, pulling his knees up to his chest and rocking. Mycroft sighed again.  
“Alright Sherlock it's ok, it's all okay now”  
\---  
John had waited outside the room during Mycroft and Sherlock's exchange. Sherlock had looked so frightened, not of Mycroft per say, but of what Mycroft had been asking him, he seemed to act as though this was all a trick and at any moment Moriarty would come and snatch him up.  
John sighed, scrubbing his face with the rough palms of his hands.  
“He's not willing to talk about it” Mycroft said tiredly, a slight tint of irritation in his voice, as he close Sherlock's door.  
“Not surprising” John responded. Mycroft nodded, rubbing his face.  
“We'll try again in a few days, in the meantime he's to go see a specialist for a psychological evaluation, which will hopefully give us some answers.” John nodded in agreement.  
“Do you think Sherlock knows where Moriarty is?” John asked curiously.  
“If he does he's too afraid to tell us, anytime Moriarty or what happened is brought up he becomes unresponsive” John sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.  
“And you think it's too early for me to try to talk to him?” Mycroft nodded.  
“Yes we don't want to overload him too much, and I feel that your presence might be a bit much for him at the moment.” John nodded in understanding. Mycroft bid him farewell, walking down the hall to the elevator. John lingered outside of Sherlock's room, watching as Sherlock tossed and turned in bed in a failing attempt to get comfortable.  
It would be a long time, John thought, it would be a long time till he ever felt comfortable again.  
\---  
Moriarty was lying stark naked face down on a beach blanket when the call came.  
“What did you do to him?” Mycroft asked angrily. Moriarty smiled smugly.  
“Dear me Mr. Holmes” Moriarty said cheerfully. “I dare say you have a bit of an anger problem”  
“What did you do?” Moriarty chuckled.  
“I simply ruined your most valuable asset, merely tampered with his mind”  
“You've ruined him” Mycroft said in a low tone. Moriarty chuckled again.  
“You know you really should come visit, Greece is lovely this time of year”  
Mycroft looked down at his phone, listening to the dial tone on the other end. He let out a shuddering breath, setting his phone on the table in front of him, resting his elbows there as well before placing his head in his hands. It didn't take long before Mycroft could feel the hot tears rolling down his cheeks. He had always prided himself with being able to hold his emotions in, always so well composed.  
But now was different, now he was weak as he let the hot angry tears run down his cheeks, weak as he let the sobs shake his body. What had he done to his brother? Mycroft blamed himself, he knew that it had been his fault that this had happened, he'd been so careless.  
Mycroft wasn't sure what time he'd stopped crying all he knew was that now he was in Sherlock's room, sitting in the chair next to his bed, watching as Sherlock watched the news.  
“Sherlock?” Mycroft asked softly, carefully.  
“Hmm?” Sherlock tilted his head the slightest bit to indicate he was listening, not bothering to take his eyes from the television screen in front of him.  
“Can I bring a friend to come visit you?”  
“Is it Lestrade?” Sherlock asked with the tiniest bit of excitement in his voice, Greg had visited a few days ago and had spent most of the day with Sherlock, talking about seemingly nothing. Mycroft shook his head.  
“No I was thinking of someone else” Sherlock frowned and scrunched up his nose.  
“I suppose you may.” Sherlock said, reclining his bed the slightest bit. “But not today, I'm tired” Mycroft nodded, helping to cover Sherlock with the hospital blanket. Mycroft suddenly had flashbacks to when he was a teenager of having to take care of Sherlock, he never dreamed that he'd be doing this again. Mycroft, overcome with emotion leaned down and brushed hair off Sherlock's forehead before gently placing a kiss there.  
\---  
John's anxiety spiked the second after Mycroft told him.  
“Did you tell him it was me?” Mycroft sighed, shaking his head. “Well why the hell not, he's going to freak out again.”  
Mycroft sighed again, he'd been doing that a lot lately, “right now he's acting as though nothing happened and he's simply in the hospital because he hasn't been eating, he's pretending nothing happened.” John shifted uncomfortably, crossing his arms. “I'll be in there with you” Mycroft said tiredly. John nodded once in conformation, before grabbing his jacket and walking down and out of the flat.  
Before John knew it he was standing outside of Sherlock's hospital room, watching as Sherlock worked on a rubik's cube. Mycroft walked into the room first, walking over to Sherlock and whispering to him quietly.  
Mycroft looked up and motioned for John to come over.  
“Hi Sherlock” John said softly. There was a sudden look of fear and discomfort on Sherlock’s face and he looked over to Mycroft shaking his head quickly.  
“No” he said softly at first. John frowned and looked over at Mycroft. “No” Sherlock repeated again, slightly louder, the longer John stood near him the louder he became until he was screaming. Mycroft escorted John out of Sherlock’s room and into the hall, closing the door behind him, for Sherlock was still screaming.  
“I apologize John, I thought he was getting better but when it comes to you he regresses.” John shook his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.  
“It's fine, how could you have known?”  
“I feel as though he's not been making progress” Mycroft said sighing. John shook his head again.  
“He has though, someone cut his hair” Mycroft smiled a little.  
“Yes he refused to let anyone touch him except for me, so that was my doing” John nodded, a small smile on his face. “I just don’t get why you’re the exception” John shook his head.  
“It’s Moriarty, he probably didn’t want Sherlock to trust me”  
“Yes probably so more than the rest of us, he still won't talk about what happened, whenever he's asked he clams up” John nodded in understanding. “We may never know what went on in there”  
\---  
Sherlock regressed after John's visit, refusing to let anyone near him that wasn't a doctor or nurse, and even they were barely able to touch him without him becoming hysterical. Any and all progress that had been made had been lost in the short span of 60 seconds. The doctor said it was due to psychological trauma to an old wound, almost as if you had a fresh scab, barely dry, and then proceeded to rip it off.  
They were no closer to finding out what exactly happened to him and even further from ever finding Moriarty. Sherlock refused to eat little more than plain bread and slept most of the day away. Mycroft stood outside his room, looking in, his arms crossed in displeasure.  
He of course blamed himself, if only he’d waited to bring John in, if only he had done a better job of protecting his brother none of this would have happened in the first place. Mycroft sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.  
“This isn’t your fault” Lestrade said, appearing suddenly behind Mycroft.  
“It is though” Mycroft responded, dropping his hand to his side. “This was orchestrated for me, his suffering is my fault.”  
“His reaction to John isn’t though” Lestrade said gently. Mycroft shook his head, recrossing his arms.  
“I know you you feel like this is your fault because you held Moriarty captive but you had no reason to ever suspect that this would be the outcome.” Lestrade explained, placing a reassuring hand on Mycroft’s shoulder. “All we can do now is hope for the best”  
\---  
John didn’t go back to the hospital and that was probably for the best. Mycroft would text him updates now and again but Sherlock’s condition hadn’t improved or changed. John blamed himself for Sherlock’s regression though Mycroft and Lestrade had assured him it wasn’t his fault. It did nothing to ease him.  
He couldn’t stop thinking, about what could have possibly gone on, what horrors had transpired to make him so fearful? John knew of course that Sherlock had been under the influence of drugs at one point but what kind and to what extent, that John didn’t know.  
He sighed, leaning back in his chair, pulling his knees up to his chest. The amount of trauma that Sherlock must have endured to break was unimaginable to John, how hard, how long must it have taken to break him. John suddenly heard footsteps coming up the stairs but he was too tired to pay attention to who they belonged to. Lestrade popped his head in, looking around for John before he spotted him in his chair.  
Lestrade wandered over, seating himself across from John in Sherlock’s chair, perching on the edge. Lestrade opened his mouth to speak before closing it, frowning and clasping his hands together between his knees.  
“They’ve taken Sherlock up to the fourth floor for rehab” John frowned, unfolding from himself and sitting up straight.  
“They took him up to pysch?” Lestrade nodded. John shook his head, slowly leaning back into his chair, his shoulders slumping. “Does Mycroft know?”  
“Lestrade nodded. “He actually was the one to suggest it” John’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline  
“Mycroft suggested that he go to the floor of the hospital where he can’t leave until he’s sane?” Lestrade nodded. “Sherlock being himself isn’t 100% sane, he won’t be the same,”  
“He’s not the same now John” Lestrade said, cutting him off. “He’s not getting better, this is the only option left” John frowned but he nodded all the same. “It’s the only hope we have left.”

FIN


End file.
